Chapter Text
If you truly are a time traveler,
as I expect you are,
then can we please meet again,
after this life is over?
~ Aaron Lux
Izuku’s life is made of resolution, a maelstrom of determination painted in his heart regardless of the vitriol spat his way, regardless of the derision he is forced to endure day after day. Izuku’s life is made of certainties, made of unshakeable truths such as the fact that one silly bone makes it so he will never have a quirk, truths that claim he will never be able to follow in All Might’s footsteps, never be able to become a hero like his idol.
Izuku’s life is made of certainties, of the fact that he will forever be Quirkless no matter how much he desires otherwise. Perhaps this is why the change takes him by surprise, the sudden displacement shifting the ground from beneath his feet and bringing a curtain of darkness before his eyes, Kacchan’s terrified visage the only thing he sees before everything becomes dark and light, a whirlwind of intermingling opposing forces that make his eyes burn and propel him mercilessly, shove him to the ground with brutal fury, knees skinning on the concrete.
The sound of explosions blasts in his ears, a blazing canvas painted with destruction and violence, buildings collapsing around him and screams cut off in mid shout in the dwindling twilight, a painful reality that brings him so much closer to what he had dreamed and yet too close for his terrified five year old self.
He screams, raw and pitched, a shout betraying a gut-wrenching terror, green eyes wide with fear and tainted by tears as more explosions burn before his gaze, a mountain of a man turning towards him with a twisted smile and blood painting his lips. Fire burns between his fingers, a roaring inferno building momentum and the child scoots back as much as his wounded legs allow him, blood trickling down his knees, pain flaring with each movement. Another scream passes his lips, an sob lodged in his throat and he has never felt more scared, more powerless, the moment lasting for eternity as the villain makes his way towards him, slowly, methodically, drawing out his anguish with the careful movements of one accustomed to prolonging others’ suffering.
He does not expect the ice to come, a layer of frost stealing over the ground, locking the villain’s feet in frozen shackles, the twisted smile of before replaced with a rictus of hatred as his skin turns blue, rising slowly, twisting around his calves and climbing to his midriff, icicles forming on his clothes. The fire turns inwards, no longer aimed towards Izuku, but all the villain manages to do is add a layer of burns to his already abused skin, pain twisting his features as the ice thickens around his body, weighs him down and effectively stops his struggles.
Izuku’s attention turns from the villain, now chained and powerless, a bristling monument of fury, curses falling relentlessly from his lips even as his struggles remain futile, to the figure approaching through the smoke and the flames, a shock of scarlet red and pure white flaring at the horizon long before features become distinguishable.
A hero arrives - and he is a hero, there is no doubt in Izuku's mind, the costume and the determination in his eyes just little fractions of a whole building the image in the child’s mind, awe and gratefulness stealing over his features as his thoughts mull over who the hero might be, why he had never heard of him, how could he manage to look almost as cool as All Might, despite the lack of a smile on the youthful face, despite the anger burning in the mismatched gaze. The hero’s features are locked in a frozen mask of icy calm, steps measured and assured, but his gaze softens upon looking at Izuku, a brief flare of shock replaced by rueful acceptance and before the child has the time to wonder what it might all mean, he is whisked away, displaced once more and tossed like a rag doll to the ground in face of a still shocked and desperate Kacchan.
Shouto’s life is made of constants, an undercurrent of monotony leading to days bleeding into each other, no beginning and no end, just an endless stream of repetition, a symphony of pain and sorrow with no reprieve in sight.
His life is made of constants. One constant, his mother, face twisted in anguish, tears streaming down pale cheeks, gathering under her chin even as she holds him tight, tight, tight, a fragile shield that has no chance of protecting him from the blows that rain on both their bodies.
Another, his father, flames burning viciously, eyes narrowed in displeasure and disappointment, fists coming at him with the fury of a villain, fight, fight, fight , a mantra that he hears continuously from the moment he turns five even as his body is black and blue, burning with agonizing pain, even as small limbs can hardly keep him upright and even smaller hands curl into fists trying to summon fire and ice to protect himself. You will become number one, he is told and somewhere along the way he starts to resent this plan, forgetting his own dreams and desires of becoming a hero.
He does not expect a third constant in his life, one that comes with smiling eyes and a shock of green hair, freckles peppering a face that seems to always gaze at him with wonder and fondness. The man - he calls him man, but sometimes he is a child like him and sometimes a teenager, but always there, always when he needs him to be - appears from nowhere after his mother goes away, the bandage on his face still itching, the pain still flaring every now and then.
It is the first and only time the man’s eyes brim with tears, the first and only time his features are contorted in sorrow - afterwards, there is always a smile on his face no matter what. As a child, the stranger is prone to crying, ugly tears running down his face in fear, anger, sadness. But as he grows, the smile is always there, ever present and reassuring.
Shouto does not know who he is - not yet, not for a while longer; after he learns, he is always able to recognize him, no matter in what form he may appear.
For a moment he thinks he is a villain coming to kidnap him because he is the no 2 hero’s child - part of him even hopes so, because surely nothing can be worse than being only in his father’s care - but how could a villain break so easily into his house?
For another moment he thinks the man might be a wizard, like the one from mother’s tales, coming to whisk him away on a grand adventure - he yearns for that belief to be real, he yearns so much - but the fantasy does not linger in his soul longer than seconds. Fairy tales are not real and happy endings never do come true.
He doesn’t get to learn who the man is, not the first time anyway. He doesn’t find out he is a hero until their second meeting. His name is disclosed on the third. What he learns is that the stranger is kind.
Strong arms close around his body in a gentle hug, drawing him close, a cradle akin to his mother’s and yet safer, sturdier, a shield that could protect him from his father whereas his mother’s fragile form had never been able to, warmth suffusing in his very being. Tears stream down the man’s cheeks as he looks at the bandage adorning Shouto’s face, soft, hiccuping sobs echoing now and then, fingers ghosting over the white gauze with unprecedented care. His words are soft, whispered, almost unheard despite the silence of the boy’s room, a promise repeated over and over again even as the words break under his sorrow: “Everything will be alright one day. I promise.”
He disappears mere seconds afterwards, the lingering warmth of his presence the only echo of his existence, his words already fading in the stillness of the room, an elusive dream that Shouto might have dreamt for himself had he not learned from infancy that dreams are mere fallacies, broken pieces of twisted realities never meant to happen. It is as if he had never been there, a make believe ghost whose existence was ephemeral at best, a haunting specter of unuttered wishes and perhaps the boy would have blamed the whole illusion on the lingering sorrow still flaring in his bones, on the aching loss burning in his heart, had the meeting not felt so real, so undeniable and unimaginably real.
( It takes until their second meeting for him to truly believe in the man’s existence. It takes years and years and years until he will no longer expect him to disappear from his life like his mother had done )